Stardust in Her Hair, the World Falls To Her Feet
by Blondegenius911
Summary: The Gallagher's go with Steve to visit his distant cousin in New York, an eccentric Russian heiress with madness looming over her head. Will Lip get over Karen and finally feel a love and closeness worth having with the Mad Heiress of Waldorf-Astoria?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I have decided to write a Lip/OC fanfic because of two reasons: I always thought that crazy young recluse ladies are amazing (I happen to be one) and that I hate Karen. Let's face it, she's a mean slut that's totally messed up. If you like Karen, then you may be offended multiple times throughout this piece because I don't exactly paint her in a good light.**

**Anyways, this takes place somewhere when Fiona and Steve were still all lovey with each other, and Karen as broken Lip's heart because she hooked up with some biker dude and has dumped him. Anyways, hope you enjoy this!**

"New York can be crazy, don't you guys think?" called Steve from the driver's seat as they drove over the bridge into Manhattan. Fiona sat shotgun, taking turns looking at the maps and gawking out the window at the sights.

Deb, Carl and Lip sat in the back, and Liam was curled into a ball on Deb's lap. Deb and Carl where completely passed out. Ian had decided to catch a ride on the bus after his shift at the Kash & Grab ended later on. Lip stared out the window but wasn't really looking at the sights as they flew past him in a blur. All he could see was cold blue eyes and choppy, faded blonde hair. Karen. She left him for some guy named "Fang". Lip thought he could finally draw her away from that shit, but apparently she didn't care for him like that. He thought she could be his girlfriend. He loved her, though in truth he didn't want to admit it, because the last time he did, she fucked his old man on video.

"You okay, Lip?" called Fiona from the front.

"Fine," muttered Lip, still looking out the window. Storm clouds loomed over the city, shading the city of lights an eerie gray.

Fiona shrugged, letting it drop for now. She turned to Steve. "So, okay. What is your plan again?"

He chuckled. "Well, I planned to give you guys a much-needed vacation away from Frank. And I will, but our living accommodations might change. I had planned to stay at this really nice hotel in the nice side of Brooklyn, but I remembered a friend I have here. Well, she's a distant cousin," he paused. "Not much older than you, Lip."

"Yay for her," Lip snapped, still looking away.

Steve started in again. "Anyway, I called her, and finally deduced that we may get to stay there for the week."

Fiona raised her eyebrows. "'may'? What the hell does that mean?"

Steve scratched his head nervously. "Well, she isn't…lucid sometimes."

"LUCID?" Fiona almost screeched.

"She is very eccentric, is all," he amended. "I was really hoping to have you over there because she's awesome. Her house is awesome. She has permanent residence in this hotel called the Waldorf-Astoria, where some of the Greats stayed, like Janis Joplin and Bob Dylan. I just remember that it was a wonderland, filled with a bunch of, ah, _oddities._ I thought you guys would love it; escape to another world for a bit, you know?"

Fiona looked almost….excited. "Okay. But I warn you, if I don't like her…"

Steve looked almost hurt. "You won't, I promise!"

Lip just rolled his eyes. Then thought of something he couldn't help asking aloud: "How does she have permanent residence in the Waldorf?"

"Her parent's died a long time ago, but no one really claimed her. Her parents where, let's just say, almost priceless within themselves, and left everything to her. But she didn't have a godparent, so she went to her closest companion: the ninety year old maid, Heidi. Heidi cared for her till she was twelve, then Heidi died. But before she did, she set it up so that the girl would live in the Waldorf, where Heidi's family had worked loyally ever since it had opened, forever, and that she would receive a certain amount of money each year to get her along. And by "along", I mean "never want for anything"."

"I can't believe this," Lip looked back out the window.

They stood in front of the door leading into the King Royal Suite, on the very top floor overlooking Manhattan. Steve tentatively knocked, and everyone but Lip held their breath.

Suddenly the door swung open. On the other side stood a strange being that had Lip catch his breath. She had on five layers of colorful tutus that hit her knees and fluffed out in an array of colors. Her shirt was sky blue and said in loopy print "Let's put the 'fun' back in 'funeral'!" Her fire-red hair billowed down around her back in loops and curls down to her thighs. She had on only one battered leather boot three sizes too big. Wispy red curls fell into eyes such a dark green they looked almost black. Pale hands gripped a stuffed bunny.

Steve sighed. "Vivette Vorahnov, you have gotten…worse."

She narrowed her lovely eyes at him, then gasped and snapped her head back. "You are LATE!"

"We never agreed on a time, Vivette."

She scoffed before turning around and disappearing back into her lair. "I agreed on a time with myself, silly man."

Steve looked at them all with a reassuring smile. They probably all wore the same shocked expression. He followed her, and they followed him.

The hall they entered was dimly lighted by candles, but Lip could see that she had obviously just thrown buckets of different paint colors on the wall to create mash of colors, then not bothered to clean up, because paint had bled on the dark wood floor and had been left. They entered a circular room with about five beds scattered throughout, all with piles upon piles of fluffy, colorful comforters. That seemed to be the seating arrangement. Bottles of various colors and designs hung down from the ceiling from twine, and each had a little light inside it, making each one glow. The parts of the ceiling you could see was painted with constellations and white Christmas lights, all filtering a soft, colorful glow on everything.

Books where littered everywhere, huge chunks of paper ripped out of them like a madman had set into them. Their uses where obviously the origami cranes, dragons, and other mythical creatures scattered about in over-abundance. A cat lounged serenely on the lop of a settee in the corner, apparently all his own. An old bloodhound raised it's head oh-so slowly off it's resting place on one of the beds at their arrival.

Knick-knacks where everywhere, piled in mountains and all across the floor. A fountain sat in the very center of the room, made out of light green jade. Scraps of fabric wound around wires gave the illusion of a cloth waterfall, falling to a pool of pillows and yarn in each tier.

While the rest stared in shock at what really was a wonderland in the heart of New York, Lip drifted off to look at a small ruby-encrusted dagger placed gently on a pillow on a shelf made out of what where-he hoped-imitation bones. He reached up to touch it, but suddenly heard a screech behind him and he froze in disbelief at what he heard: "Touch that and I'll use it to slice off your nut sack for a coin purse!"

**Like it? No? Review! I hope you enjoyed this, and Vivette and I graciously await your responses! Vivette says….. "The clouds look like rabbit's here!"**


	2. Chapter 2

**I present installment two for the love story of foul-mouthed genius Lip and insane Russian heiress Vivette :D enjoy!**

"Why" Lip snapped, tempted to touch it just to spite her. What, it was so priceless that she couldn't have anyone like him touch it? Why did she even invite Steve and them here? She obviously didn't approve of any of them, Steve included, and just as obviously she wouldn't be tolerable to any quirks not her own. She had a whole fucking bag of issues.

He turned to see her turned away, fiddling with a copy of The Iliad that doubled as a pin cushion, seeming to have completely forgotten Lip and the ruby dagger.

"Hey, I asked you a question," he told her, and he was relieved to notice that Steve and his family were busy exploring.

Her eyes snapped up, and they unnerved him with their crazed glint. "And I chose to ignore it!"

He stepped closer to her, and smelled a faint wisp of mandarin oranges and sugar. He hated that he liked it. "Why?" he asked again.

She froze for a moment, then suddenly their noses where pressed together, his crooked from being broke so many times, hers tiny like a pixie's and speckled with little red freckles. Black-green burned into brown. Slowly, a Russian accent lacing her words, she whispered, "Why not?"

Lip heard clatter coming from the entrance hall, and her gaze snapped away, and she scampered away from him like a tiny field mouse would to a barn cat, hopping onto a nearby fluffy bed.

Ian emerged from the hall, and after gazing around in wonder at the room for a moment, he announced, "I have arrived! Sorry I didn't knock, I though you guys would be waiting for me and all. Steve texted me the location," he quickly located Vivette with his eyes. "This is an amazing place! I've always heard about the Waldorf!"

She simply inclined her head slowly in recognition and Lip's breath quickened in lust at the image. She gasped, and Lip almost gasped with her. "I want to make dinner now!" she glanced around at the visitor's faces as if seeking approval.

Fiona took it upon herself. "Yes, you can make dinner."

Vivette clapped her hands. "I've never had dinner with anyone before!" before she hopped off the bed and skipped off into some back room, the shadows swallowing her up.

She left silence in her wake. "What the hell is wrong with her?" asked Ian abruptly.

Steve shuffled his feet. "Well, her parent's were Russian. Royalty, actually. Her father was Dmitry Vorahnov, Duke of Latvea, a direct descendant to the last official tsar and her mother was

Antalya Vorahnov, Duchess of Latvea, and her family where close friends to the Romanov family.," He sat stiffly on one of the beds. "They were very secretive and mysterious as far as families go, I think. All "Let the house burn as no one sees the smoke," you know? She was all alone all the time, and I think that benefited to her, ah, _issues. _They locked her away because they didn't think people would accept her."

Lip frowned, imagining a tiny girl with red pigtails sitting alone in a giant marble hall, a colorful tutu swirling around her, tears flowing silently from dark green eyes. He didn't like the sight. "Why wouldn't they accept her?"

Fiona interjected, "That poor girl! I got this: she wouldn't have been accepted because she thinks way different from anyone else in the royal families? They were embarrassed of her?"

Steve nodded, and Fiona seemed both happy that she was right and grief-stricken over Vivette's past. "But I have to agree, it was probably for the best. I mean, she wouldn't have been happy in the real world. She was meant to live in this world," he swept his hand around, gesturing to the strange setting they were in now.

Vivette breezed in just now, and Lip noticed that she had changed. Well, 'noticed' was an understatement, because if someone had asked him about Karen just then, he would have looked confused and asked "Karen who?".

Vivette was wearing a bright yellow ball gown, and I mean BALL GOWN. A tight-fitted bodice was encrusted with lace bows, and hugged her body to encase a tiny waist that flared out to soft hips. The bodice stopped at her hips, and froofed out to a bell-shaped fluff of sunshine-colored tulle and gauze. Her dress filled up the hallway. Her hair was up in a loose updo, golden ribbon woven in the braids.

_Damn, _Lip thought against his will, _I didn't even have to go to Disneyland to see a princess._

"Put your penises away, gentlemen! Dinner is procured by a woman!" she announced, her Russian accent excited and feminine.

Lip's jaw dropped open.

She cried, "Follow me to victory!" before twirling back around to what was hopefully the dining room.

They all followed, and everyone was busy gawking at the macabre paintings that lined the narrow hallway that he had disappeared into. The paintings looked like a blend of the insanity of Tim Burton and the cartoony-ness of Emily the Strange. But Lip wasn't looking at the paintings of a headless Victorian queen or a French vampire's smiling decapitated head resting on a platter, he was focused on the entity of gold in front of him. She was a mystery and confusing, but unlike Karen, he only found more lightness with each page he turned. She was a puzzle that he liked, instead of dreaded, solving.

They entered a small room painted dark green like her eyes, with a magnificent dining table that should be in some castle somewhere. It was black onyx, and gargoyles and swirls where carved on the legs, and it was huge, able to seat around ten people. A sheet of stained glass leaned against and covered the entire back wall, dark red with a family crest on it. The crest was of two wolves facing each other on their hind legs, their front paws touching each other, their muzzles back and howling to the sky. Two ravens circled their heads, holding a banner in their claws that said in gothic script, "Тьма наш свет".

"What does that say?" asked Deb, pointing a finger at the Russian words.

"Hmm?" asked Vivette, who was busy running around making any of the straightened paintings crooked. "Ah, it's my family's crest. It's Russian for 'Darkness is our light'."

Lip was surprised at the lucidity of her words, and was even more surprised that he didn't like it all that much. It didn't seem like…her.

"Sit! I'll be right back!" she said, scurrying off through a little black door on the side wall.

Lip found himself sitting on the right to the head of the table, not for any normal reason, but because he hoped she would sit at the head of the table and he would be near her.

She burst through, holding a giant covered silver platter. She dropped it in the dead center of the table and sat down at the head of the table, but on the other end of Lip. He didn't like how sad he was about that.

She sat still, staring at the plate, and not really knowing what they should be doing, they stared at the platter too. Lip wondered what she had made.

"Well?" she suddenly cried. "I cooked it! What more do you people want? I suppose you want me to go ahead and actually lift up the lid, too? Hmm?"

Lip couldn't hold back a laugh, and he saw Ian flick his gaze up to him, his brows up near his hairline in surprise. Lip knew what he was thinking: Have you forgotten her yet?

_Not yet, but she's….distracting me._

Ian leaned up and slowly lifted up the lid. Lip fell on the floor laughing at what he saw underneath.

**Can you just imagine what she served? I can't! Really, I can't. I still have to dream something up. This might take some thinking….And while I'm here, I have to also dream up a middle name for Vivette. I need help! Any ideas? If you where planning on sending in a review to Vivette and I, since I AM telling her story, add a name you would like me to use for her middle name. Have an amazing day, and don't forget: Pigs in tutus are the very best kind! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, my crème puffs! I present the much awaited next chapter in the fairytale of Vivette and Lip! *wink***

Fifteen little teacups where arranged in a circle and filled with one giant dollop of whipped cream on the platter, and Vivette seemed extremely pleased with herself as Fiona, shocked, slowly put the lid down beside it. Vivette clapped, bouncing in her seat, looking at each face, looking for excitement at her presentation. Lip still couldn't stop laughing.

Her clapping died down, and Lip sobered when he saw her happy face fall. "You….you don't like them? I thought they looked pretty…"

Lip frowned, and found himself reaching across the table to grab a blue teacup with little gold stars encrusted on it. He saw her watching him with wide dark eyes and he dipped his finger in the whipped cream, and licked it off. It tasted like….blueberries and cheesecake?

"This tastes great!" he said, and felt terribly accomplished when she grinned at him. Which was ignorant…right?

Everyone looked at one another, shrugged, and reached forward for a cup of their own.

Vivette herself simply folded her small hands in her lap and watched the them with wide, innocent eyes. Deb, who was sitting beside her (which he envied) saw this, and pushed a pink cup with hearts on it towards Vivette. Vivette gasped in delight, and hugged Deb. Deb looked a little uncomfortable, but nonetheless pleased.

Vivette dipped a pale finger in the white fluff and licked it slowly off. Lip tensed.

Vivette sighed. "I got this recipe from Monsieur Debreu. He was this adorable little old man who was the Head Chef at Le Cordon Bleu; impossibly French. Had this Pomeranian named Francois. He had such fun teaching me how to make various things with cream, silly chap."

They were all listening to her story, and Lip asked, "You went to Paris?"

She blinked and smiled. "Of course! I had such fun there! I learned how to kill a lobster. As it turns out, it's a very bad idea to name the lobster. I suffered such heartache over Paunchy," she sniffled.

She rose as if a thought occurred to her and flicked her gaze to Lip, meeting him in the eye. "May you come with me?"

Lip choked on his bite of whipped cream. "Uh, yeah, sure." He got up and followed her out of the dining room, leaving the others jabbering and throwing whipped cream at each other. Once they reached the living room again, she turned abruptly, so that he bumped into her. He noticed how little she was, her auburn head coming only up to his chin. She tilted her head back, and slowly raised one of her hands to touch his shoulder. The sounds of the clatter in the dining room seemed to fade away as she touched him, and all he saw was her pale, melancholy face. Even happy, she seemed ethereal and untouchable, like a fairy that was just visiting this world.

"Did you really like the dinner?" she whispered, her Russian voice so low he could barely hear.

He nodded, looking at her lips. Blood red, the bottom one was plump, the top one curved in a perfect bow. She parted her lips and breathed out softly, her cool breath fanning out over his face.

She stood on her tip-toes and brushed her lips across his nose, then his cheek, and finally his lips. Her touch was soft and light, like a butterfly's wings. He shouldn't have been able to even feel it, but it felt like a sucker-punch. The smell of mandarin oranges and sugar wafted over him like a silent tidal wave.

She backed away, her cheeks so red that she looked like a rouged doll. She squeaked and hurried off, disappearing off into a little pink door on the other side of the room, with a white sign on him that said "GET OFF MY PROPERTY, YOU DIRTY BALLERINA ZOMBIE!"

Lip had never had a more pleasurable experience in his life.

**The next day:**

Lip groaned and sat up, looking around. He had crashed on one of the beds in the living room, and apparently everyone else did too. Fiona and Steve shared a bed, curled up together. Deb, Carl and Liam where on one bed, Carl's head falling off the bed, and Ian was splayed out like Leonardo Da Vinci's famous painting on the bed next to Lip's.

He looked around for Vivette, and found her curled up on a bed across from him. Her hair was in two pigtails, the red looking like blood spilling down over her shoulders. She was dressed in an elaborate lace night gown, looking to be from the Victorian Era. She looked amazing, quite simply. She had an antique mint-colored phone pressed to her ear.

"buongiorno, my Italian friend!" she cried into the phone, fiddling with her nails, which where now painted blue. She paused. "It's "good morning" in Italian. Honestly, Luigi, you should know that! Anywoo, I am in need of fourteen pizzas," she paused again. "Well, I don't know….surprise me?"

Deb was up now, and waved at Vivette. Vivette saw and waved enthusiastically back. Vivette said into the phone, "un momento, Luigi," she paused to listen, then narrowed her eyes. "Oh, come on, Luigi. Now you're just being deliberately ignorant!" She hung up with a bang, then hopped over and jumped onto Lip's bed. She leaned over quickly and pecked him fast on the cheek. If he was sleepy still, after that he was wide awake.

"Tuma sō jā'ō kaisē kiyā?" She asked, leaning back to look at him, waiting patiently for an answer.

Lip furrowed his brows. "What? I didn't understand that?"

She cackled, and he felt like laughing with her. It seemed like whenever she was happy, he wanted to be too. It was odd. "It's Hindi! It means 'how did you sleep?'"

"How many languages do you speak?" she seemed pretty confident when she was speaking to that Luigi guy.

She shrugged. "At least ten. Let's see.." she held up her hand and began ticking off fingers. "Italian, Hindi, French, Russian, Estonian, Greek, Finnish, Thai, Mandarin, Swahili, and Bengali."

Lip fell back on the bed because his spine gave out on him in shock. _Eleven languages? _He thought dazedly _That's crazy! And oddly…arousing. _An image of her whispering dark, wicked words in his ear, him not knowing what they could mean but knowing that they where lovers' word by her raspy voice, flashed through his mind.

He snapped out of it when her big eyes suddenly appeared an inch away from his face, her expression worried. He sat up, and she backed away to sit at the very edge of the bed.

"Does my linguistics offend you?" she whispered, batting her long eyelashes demurely. He was so entranced that he almost nodded his head, but frowned when he realized what she had said.

"No, of course not! I like that you can speak those languages! Can you say something in Greek for me?" He always liked the idea of goddesses…

She huffed, but complied. "nomízeis óti eímai kápoio zó̱o na kánei kólpa salóni ? Sas diavevaió̱no̱ , boró̱ na káno̱ polý perissótera apó ta fti̱ná tryk , prágmata pou tha échete sta pódia mou sti̱n ypovolí̱ protáseo̱n"

She hopped off the bed, still bristling.

Lip held in a laugh. What did she say? God only knew…. He looked around at the giant bookshelf on one of the walls and saw a Greek-English dictionary. How convenient. He got it down and spent the next half hour looking up as many words as he remembered her saying and in what order, and pieced together what she had said. He raised his eyebrow, his lips curling of their own accord. What do you know, the kooky Poodle had a little cocky Terrier in her.

She had said, "do you think i am some animal to do parlor tricks? i assure you, i can do far more than parlor tricks, things that would have you at my feet in submission."

**Things heating up a bit between Lip and Vivette, Eh? I think so too! Have a great week, fellows! ~ Vivette and I. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry I haven't written in a while! I got the flu, and have been staying home from school ****L I have so much makeup to do! Horrid! And then I lost my laptop, and couldn't update! But that's okay, because I found it, so enjoy!**

Vivette drawled a Russian folk song under her breath as she absently scratched under the chin of her bloodhound. It had been two whole days, and none of them knew the dog's name. It was getting ridiculous!

Lip sat down beside her and patted the dog on his wrinkly head. "What's his name?"

She huffed. "'his'? Bah! HER name is Atropa! Do you know the story of Atropa?" She glanced up at him through red wisps and her dark eyes held happiness. He'd never known such happiness, but when he was with her is felt a little of her happiness reflecting on him, like the sun's light does to the dark, dark moon.

He shook his head.

She grinned in excitement and smoothed her dress. She was wearing an antique, probably priceless, Regency gown of baby blue, with white lace embroidery, and her hair was woven into intricate Celtic braids. "Atropa was one of the three Fates in Greek Mythology. The Fates where beings that where said to control the lives of humans, isn't that nice? I would have fun! Anyway, there is Clotho, the one that spins the Thread of Life, and many in ancient Greece prayed to her during the times of their pregnancy. There is Lachesis, the one that measures the life allotted to each person on the thread, and dyes the thread with colors that plan out their journey through life, the good times and bad. Then, there is Atropa. She determines when they die, and cuts the thread at that time with her abhorred shears," she giggled and scratched Atropa's ears.

Lip furrowed his brows. "Why would you name your dog that?"

She looked at him with a withering look and ever so slight amusement. "Death is something to be revered, Lip! By saying goodbye, you also say hello to another. You ARE aware of The Day of the Dead, are you not?"

He thought of Karen, and how when she said goodbye to him, he said hello to Vivette. In a sense. He still didn't know what to make of her.

He felt a sensation on his back, and looked over at her. Her pale hands where patting him comfortingly on the back. "Uh, you don't need to pat me, I'm not upset."

"Of course not!" but she winked and continued to pat him.

"Really, I'm good."

"Oh, I know," she said, but then she winked again and kept patting.

He sighed and let her.

**Two hours later:**

"Would you like to go out and sightsee?" Vivette asked, poking him on the arm. Everyone else had left to go look around New York, and Lip had stayed behind, and Vivette had been taking a 'rosewater bath' and threw a role of toilet paper at Steve when he tried to ask her to join them.

She pouted, "They didn't even properly ask me!"

Lip cocked an eyebrow and ignored her muttering. "You have a car?"

She smoothed her dress and looked slightly offended. "Of COURSE I do!" She hurried over to a witch cauldron gathering dust in the corner, and kneeled down in front of it. She stuck her arm deep inside till you could only see her elbow. She rooted around, biting her lip, pulling out random books, fans, and feathery hats, examining them a moment before throwing them over her shoulder and diving back in the pot again, looking for something.

Lip caught sight of a well worn, leather-bound book sitting on a tiny end table. He reached over and grabbed it. It was a thick book, and she had to have read it many times. He opened to a random page and found letters that didn't make sense, written in an unknown language. But it looked elegant, the way all the words flowed effortlessly into the next, like a waterfall on yellowed paper. However, what shocked him was the words written in loopy ink within the margins, in every nook and cranny, on the page. There were arrows pointing to certain words, underlined quotes, and some parts completely and violently scratched out, re-written underneath in the small space between the lines. He noticed that there were darker spots on the page, tear stains.

There were many of them.

"I found it, my lad!" Vivette cried, pulling out an iron key from the cauldron. Lip jerked his head up and quickly returned the book to it's rightful place.

"What's that?" He asked.

She looked down at her palm. "Oh, dear, why was I looking for this?"

Lip scratched his head. "I believe you were looking for a key to your car?"

But she obviously wasn't listening to his answer, staring blankly at the key. It was iron, coal black, and was shaped at the top to look like a curly, swirling black bat. She sank ever so slowly to the floor, her robins egg skirts flayed out around her like she was rising out of a Caribbean, silk ocean. The key she was holding looked nothing like a regular car key; it had some other purpose, and by her face, it wasn't to just start a vehicle.

Caressing the old key with her fingertips, she flicked her gaze to look in his direction, but not really. She was gazing past him, and he leaned back and looked behind him to see what she did. He followed her gaze and saw a dotted painting of a starry night sky over a river. He looked back at her and she looked utterly gone, spaced away. Her eyes were wide, staring intently at the painting, her blood red lips parted slightly, hair falling out of the braids in a cloud of crimson curls.

He let her be, and looked out the giant picture window that overlooked downtown Manhattan. It was about nine o'clock, and all the twinkling lights and bustling New Yorkers looked so far away from this menagerie so far, far above. He wondered how many of them, if any, even knew of the girl who belongs in a fairytale, locked away in her very own tower, right above them.

He felt a tugging on his jeans, and looked down to see her looking at him, her cute forehead crinkled in confusion. "What ever are you looking at?"

"Well, what were YOU looking at?"

She huffed in surprise. "If you must know, I was looking at my favorite painting, _Starry Night Over the Rhone, _by Vincent Van Gogh. He painted in 1888, ever one hundred years ago," she smiled absently and unconsciously started patting his leg, gripping the iron key in her other hand. "Isn't that an odd thought? That it survived so many humans in such good condition. My father bought it from a little Gypsy vender in Italy, and I don't even want to know how that man got HIS hands on it," she shrugged, looking back up at him.

He felt himself reaching down and taking her hand, which was still latched onto his leg, and giving it a comforting squeeze. He only meant for it to be a nice gesture for such a lonely girl, but she seemed ecstatic over it. Her eyes got shiny and sparkly, and her rose lips widened to an elegant, free grin. Lip felt his heart pause as she smiled, really smiled, and he realized he would walk through the gates of Hell and suffer through the eternal fire to see that smile bestowed on him again. He knew it then:

He was royally fucked.

"May I tell you something that I have never told another, Lip?" She whispered, bringing him out of his thoughts.

He nodded, trying not to laugh like a maniac and jump out the window. Wasn't realizing you were falling in love with someone supposed to have a positive effect, not a oh-shit-I'm-screwed effect?

She scurried up to sit beside him on the bed and sighed. "My father wasn't really Dmitry Vorahnov. That was just a name that my father took. My mother, who really was the Duchess of Latvea, fell in love with my father, who's real name was Garreth MacRieve, while she was traveling through the Highlands of Scotland. She couldn't marry him however, because he was a lowly fisherman, so they devised a scheme to pose him as a Russian Duke! He changed his accent, which was impossibly Scottish when he wasn't pretending, changed his name, the whole deal. It was all really romantic, I assure you.

"But then someone found out, Lord Reading of England I believe, and we had to flee the country. I was only five when we left Russia and we lived in an old castle near my Da's old village in the Highlands," she paused, looking down at the iron key before continuing, her voice barely above a whisper. "They loved me very much, and I think I was much like my mother. She wasn't normal either, Lip. Maybe that's why my father loved me with everything, because I was so similar to Mama," She lowered her voice even more to where he had to strain to hear. "I may have been locked away from the outside world, but I was never alone. Da would come and read to me and play with me, and Mama would come and teach me how to do ballet.

"They both got very sick when I was nine, I believe. I will never forget, no matter how much of my mind I will lose, them both laying in their big bed, both stroking my head and saying they will never leave me even if I don't see them."

She looked up at Lip, her eyes dim and gloomy. He wanted to wipe the sadness away from her, but he knew from experience that the only one that can make you happy is yourself. But dammit, he was going to try.

"This doesn't look like a car key," Lip said gently, taking the key out of her white-knuckled grip. She stared at the key now in his hand, then looked up at him with a shaky smile. She whispered, her voice like what he imagined a fairy's would sound like, "No, it isn't. It's a house key. Can you guess what it opens?"

Lip grinned. She was back. "No, no I can't. Give me a hint?"

She patted his hand, her eyes twinkling devilishly. "Fine, fine, if you insist. I'll give you a riddle: Emma, Emma of the Three, under the tree, hacked him in three. Darling, he's supposed to give _me _the ring!" She bounced of the bed and hurried off into some unknown room.

Lip sat there, looking down at the key. He felt his lips curling, already trying to decipher her little riddle. He probably never would…..but he would have fun trying.

**R&R, my lovelies! **


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, so, just finished watching the season finale for the second season of Shameless, and I'm on the dangerous end of hooked now! LOVE THAT SHOW! Anyways, I have something I wish to speak about, here.

I feel like I ignore Lip as a character and focus on Vivette too much, but I just really love her and, especially, I love coming up and developing her personality and back story. Since I watch the show religiously, I know Lip like one of my friends, so maybe that's why I can't really get into focusing on Lip as much as a normal writer would for her characters; it's because his character is really already developed from the shows! However, I don't feel like my fanfics are good enough as of late because I'm not staying true to his character (I.e., not having him cuss as much, etc.), and while I won't be going 50/50 as far as the thoughts and information and general focus goes, I will try to stay true to the character of Lip as created by the makers of the show, so be prepared for some more cussing! Also, when a friend read it, she was confused as to the point of view. So, to make that clear, I had wanted to tell it in a story-telling type point of view, but an all-knowing one (if that makes sense?). As if, Lip told ME the story of how he and Vivette met, and I'm telling it to all of you (which I hope explains to you why I tell it like I'm telling a fairytale, and why I only know what Lip is thinking, not Vivette).

Another thing: since I want to make sure to put more of Lip in this next chapter and (ugh) some mooning over Karen, because it isn't really realistic for him to be over her so quick (which may or may not create some turmoil between him and Vivette *hint hint*), this next update might take a while, so just hang in there! It will be worth the weight! And a love scene may be coming up, but I highly doubt it will be in the next chapter or even the next, BUT STILL SOON!

That's all I can think of to mention to you right now, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask J


	6. Chapter 6

"How've you been lately?" asked Ian, flicking a glance at Lip. They were sitting on the front stoop of some apartment building having a late-night smoke, since apparently it isn't "respectable" to sit outside Vivette's hotel because it puts a "bad face" on things.

Lip watched in silence as the yellow cabs blew past, billowing out dirty exhaust and blending in with all the other cabs on the street. He flicked off the ashes on the end of his cigarette and ran a hand through his hair. How had he been lately? He didn't even fucking know how to describe it. He barely knew Vivette, but never the-goddamn-less, he was drawn to her like a moth to flame.

And everyone knows the moth gets burned in the end.

"Why do you say that?" Mumbled Lip, picking up the Grey Goose vodka Steve had gotten for him and taking a gulp, feeling the way is slid down his throat in fiery pain.

Ian shrugged and gestured for the Grey Goose. He took a swig and looked up at Lip again, concern etching his features. "You've been with…Vivette…a lot…"

Lip scowled. "Fuck off, I have not."

"Have so."

"Have not, dammit!" Lip tried to stand off and storm off, but thought better, because the cold hard truth was that he knew exactly where he would end up. Who he would end up _with._

Ian chuckled. "You know, I may not know much about girl/guy relationships, but I can at least try. And you aren't going to like this much, but the truth is," He took a sip of Grey Goose, "Karen was poison. Nasty, rat poison. She made you feel _bad _for being smart, how fucked up does that sound, Lip? Because from a third party viewpoint, it seemed pretty fucked up to me. And," He looked over at Lip with a faint smile, "As far as I can tell, Vivette is like ice cream. Albeit, very strange-flavored ice cream."

Lip threw his cigarette on the dirty pavement and shouted, "Shit, I know! I know, God, I know. But that's the whole problem!"

Ian scowled and set down the bottle. "What do you mean, 'that's the problem'? That statement seems a little too much like "I have too much money!', don't you think?"

Lip ignored Ian's weak attempt at a joke. "Karen and me…We were made for each other. We DESERVED each other. Me and Vivette, we….we don't fit."

Ian snorted and rolled his eyes. "Keep telling yourself that."

IN VIVETTE'S APARTMENT:

Fiona scratched her head awkwardly and shifted. Everyone else had left; Steve, Deb, and Carl went out to get some ice cream, and God knows where the two boys were. It was just her and Vivette.

Vivette was sitting primly in a plush crimson armchair, sewing buttons onto pieces of fabric for no apparent reason. She was humming quietly to herself, and seemed oblivious to Fiona's discomfort. In fact, she seemed oblivious to Fiona's presence at all.

Fiona cleared her throat. "So, what are you working on?"

Vivette looked up, her green eyes sparkling. She wore a royal blue Victorian gown, with cream print depicting an exact replica of the constellations covering it. A blue shawl to match was wrapped snuggly around her shoulders, and her flaming hair fell down around her in a waterfall of wild curls. Her black cat was curled up on her lap. "A surprise for that dashing man! He is quite nice, you see, and I plan to reward him for his good behavior."

Fiona burst out laughing, and Vivette cocked her head in puzzlement like a puppy. "What ever are you laughing at?"

Fiona tried to calm herself. "Lip? Do you like Lip?"

"Of course I like him."

"No, I mean LIKE him," Fiona said, unconsciously drawing closer to Vivette from where she was sitting on one of a the beds. This one was made up of earth tones, and a leaf-shaped pillow brushed against her calf.

Vivette shrugged and set down her current piece of fabric onto the cats head, but strangely, it didn't seem to mind at all and kept on purring subtly. "I should like him to fall in love with me, yes. If that's what you mean,"

Fiona's eyes bugged out. "Holy shit! When did you start feeling like this?"

"When I saw him holding my ruby dagger. I cant remember when that was, however…"

Fiona shook her head and asked gingerly, "How does Lip seem to…you?"

Vivette giggled and clapped her hands together in delight. Her curls bobbed with her every movement. "He's positively dapper! He's very nice, he doesn't yell at me when I forget something, and he is very exotic."

Fiona's raised her eyebrows. "'exotic'?"

Vivette nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes, quite. All the men I've ever met wore tuxedos and fancy gilded robes or chef outfits, but Lip is just so…different. He wears plain things, but it isn't plain to me. Fancy things are plain, and plain things are quite beguiling to me," she stroked the cat and simpered, "and I saw him _ungarbed _once. I didn't mean to, but my goodness, I was glad I did."

Fiona coughed into her fist to hide her laugh. "Oh, wow. You, ah...liked what you saw then?"

Vivette licked her lips, her eyes dancing not from insanity, but from a glint that only women have. "Oh, yes. That's when I decided to seduce him. Since, I have been studying."

Oh, screw it. Fiona shuffled over to the chair beside Vivette's to get fully into the conversation. "Studying what?"

"I've read the Kama Sutra, all of Lord Byron's and Jane Austen's works, Shakespeare," she paused with a wink, "Specifically his piece about 'the beast with two backs'. And, of course, Men Are From Venus, Women Are From Mars."

"All for Lip?"

Vivette nodded gravely. "But he doesn't seem to understand. I even gave him a riddle to unravel."

Fiona furrowed her brows. "What?"

Vivette's red lips curled into a sultry smile. "You see, in order to solve the riddle, he has to come into my room."

Fiona cackled, and then got an idea. "Hey, we should go out."

Vivette gasped. "Where?"

"I saw a cool, fancy bar down the street. We could go there!"

Vivette sat there in silence.

And sat

And sat

And sat.

"I agree."

**AND THE TRUTH IS ALMOST REVEALED! And just a note, I looked through the Kama Sutra once, and my goodness, that book is dirty. It was written by a Hindu philosopher way back in ancient times, and it's STILL really graphic, so you can just imagine what it was like then! R&R!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi guys! I haven't been writing for a while, but with all the tests I've been handling, it's understandable. Right? Anyways, enjoy!**

"What the hell?" was the first response uttered, by Ian, when Lip and him wandered back to Vivette's suite.

Fiona was curled up in the fetal position, her head resting in Vivette's lap, while Vivette sat cross-legged on the plush Persian carpet. Her pale hands fluttered about in the air, apparently regaling Fiona in stories of her life, while Fiona laid quietly at peace, listening. Empty , extremely expensive champagne bottles littered the floor.

What surprised them was that Fiona looked perfectly happy to snuggle up with Vivette, like a child does a mother. Lip always considered Fiona like a mother, but who did Fiona turn to for motherly comfort? If was like a realization of sorts. One look at Ian showed that he was thinking the same thing.

" . . . And that, my lovely cream puff, is how I learned how to knit with camel hair," Finished Vivette dreamily, patting Fiona's hark head.

"Tell me more," mumbled Fiona with a sigh.

"Very well," said Vivette, wracking her brain for another story. "Aha! I remember the time when I found Atropa and Barnabus!" She gestured to the hound dog and black cat curled up together on one of the beds.

"It was a dark, clear night, you see. I was taking a walk along one of Cairo's dusty streets, feeling the warm air caress my skin like an Egyptian lover. I happened along a thief, a giant oaf who was already menacing without his eye patch and dirty turban. He forced me to give over all the gineigh I had on my person, and quaking in my boots, for I had very nice leather boots on, I did so." She was waving her hands about dramatically, but suddenly stopped and paused for suspense, "But then! Out of the shadows, came a big bloodhound. She growled threateningly to the thief, and like a scaredy cat he was, ran off. Naturally, I walked over the thank the dog, but she didn't answer. She looked terribly sad, and dirty, and hungry. She had a companion, a black cat who was painfully thin but had a devilish twinkle in his eyes," She looked over and winked at Barnabus. "You little tomcat, you!

"Anywho, long story short, I took them both home and they have been my little angels ever since!" She paused. "I do also have a Siamese cat, Anubis, but alas, he doesn't like strangers and has been hiding ever since you arrived. I leave him his favorite food, chopped liver and parsley with liquefied gummy bears, but he refuses to come out of my room, the poor dear. But what can one do?"

She flicked her eyes up at where Ian and Lip stood in the doorway of the hall as though their presence had been known all along , watching them for a moment as they watched her. A smile curved her cherry lips slowly as if she had all the time in the world, and maybe she did, her eyes painfully and irresistibly focused on Lip the entire time.

There, curled up on the floor, rising out of her blue-black sea of silent silk and waves of cream lace, cradling his tough sister gently like porcelain, he smiled back. A memory flashed of when he flipped through her strange leather-bound book stained with tears and covered in scrawled ink. Crammed in the margins, was a saying on page one-ninety-four, and his heart surged in nervousness, the words in mind, as he started to stride across the insignificant wonderland around him, to the wonderland that really mattered.

_All you need is ten seconds of insane, beautiful courage to court happiness._

He knelt down beside her, ignoring his sister's jerk of surprise as she snapped awake and scooted away, her eyes puzzled. Vivette's eyes, however, were wonderfully starry and wide in surprise, not breathing as he placed his calloused, scarred hands onto her smooth, alabaster cheeks. He bent down and pressed his mouth hard against hers, his soul soaring as he felt her lips move underneath his in an unmistakable grin.

She wrapped her arms around him, but not before absently slipping off her pert white tea-gloves, exploring his muscular back with enthusiasm. She slipped her hands underneath his shirt, feeling the expanse of sun-touched skin under her sensitive fingertips. Sighing, she opened her mouth to him and he groaned, deepening the kiss, their tongues tangling in an age-old dance of romance and amour.

She pushed him back onto the floor, and he acquiesced with ease, raking his big hands through her soft crimson curls. They fell in abandon over their faces like a veil to block out the world, but he noticed that Ian and Fiona had left with relief, then he was drawn back to Vivette's innocent seduction.

He leaned up to nuzzle her neck, nipping and kissing, taking note that she immediately moaned at his ministrations. In turn, she ran one long fingernail along one side of his neck to the shell of his ear, and he shivered. She suddenly stopped.

"What's wrong? Do you want to stop?" God, he was panting. He must look like a dog.

But she only shook her head, her eyes serious for the first time. "I would ask you to take me to the bedroom."

His eyes widened. "What?…..are you sure?"

She purred and stretched slightly like some big, sleek feline lounging in the morning sun, with tuna just within moments of being devoured hungrily. He felt like the tuna. "would I have asked if I was not, silly man?"

Not waiting for his answer, she rose gracefully, and smoothed her rumpled dress. Extending a small, pale hand downwards toward him, her fingers curled in perfection, she cocked her head at him in question. He grinned and slipped his hand into hers, and she gripped it, almost…..desperately.

Adoringly.

She led him to that red door on the far wall that he remembered her waltzing into that one night, after that enchanting kiss that was like a balm to his battered soul.

It was already open, and she pushed it gently, and it opened without a creak. Reaching over, she brushed the light switch in the darkness. Instead of a light, a thousand candles flickered on, sitting on window sills and dressers and the floor, everywhere. That, paired with the silvery light of the full moon, bathed the room in seductive light. The floor was black wood, painted with an archaic diagram of the night sky that looked right out of a book by Merlin, yet it was strangely soft underneath his feet like a pillow.

She led him to a large four poster bed, draped all in black. Black silk sheets, black quilt dotted with black flowers and decorated with a black-on-black harlequin pattern, black gossamer draped beautifully to create a canopy of darkness. The black wood of the frame and columns were carved with wolves, ravens, and black magic in an infinite tale up the posts and down, across the head board and around.

"It is very old, my love," she whispered, tracing a howling wolf with her fingertip.

He backed up and leaned against the wall in awe. He shouldn't be allowed to touch this bed, it was so pure in it's obsidian glory. He looked over at Vivette. He shouldn't be allowed to touch her.

As if sensing his thoughts, she came over and wrapped her arms around his neck loosely, smiling sunnily up at him as if there was no where else she would rather be.

Fuck being allowed, fuck right and wrong. He would kidnap her if he had to.

He kissed her ravenously, like _she _was suddenly the tuna and he the big bad cat. No, big bad wolf. He pushed her back until the backs of her knees hit the end of the bed, and she lost her balance. She tightened her hold on him and she fell backwards, her eyes laughing. She hit the bed with a 'whoosh', sinking into the plush bed demurely. Her red hair spilled around her like blood, stark in contrast with her pale skin and pixie-like features.

He put his knees on either side of her hips, bracing his hands above her head, and she stilled, not daring to breathe. He leaned down, ever so slowly, kissing her forehead. She reached up and ran her hands down his back, feeling his muscles flexing enticingly with every move he made. She sighed, and he felt her warm breath caress his face and wrapping around him the smell of mandarin oranges.

He went down to his elbows, gently lowering his body over hers, careful not to put all his weight on her.

She didn't like that.

She rolled her hips languidly, and he gasped, unconsciously settling more of him onto her hungry body. She spread her legs wider, letting him fall into the cradle of her thighs. He moaned.

She suddenly felt too hot in her dress.

She tugged the puff sleeve down, exposing one pale shoulder, and he quickly helped her. Together, they slipped down her bodice, and her upper half was suddenly exposed.

He had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Her exemplary breasts rose and fell softly at her breaths, and her soft torso had a perfect hourglass shape, curving down to voluptuous hips. She looked at him for approval, and his heart broke at the sight.

"Darling, you are perfect," he murmured, palming one breast. She gasped at the feeling, and her hands flashed down to push her dress all the way off. He leaned back and pulled it off fully, tossing the expensive dress to the floor.

He pulled off all his clothes too, tossed them to the same fate as her dress, and suddenly, they were both completely naked. She growled, actually growled, at the sight of him, and reached over to stroke him. He moaned loudly, clenching his fists to his sides. She traced up the side of his shaft, gripping it lightly.

That was it.

He lunged onto her, pushing her back onto the mattress again, this time fully lying on her, pressing his entire body along hers completely.

She wrapped her long legs around his hips, arching up to him. He positioned himself at her entrance, pushing himself into her. She was tight, gripping him. He panted.

She wiggled, trying to help him. She was too small.

He paused to drop a reassuring kiss to her nose. "Don't worry your pretty little head. Trust me."

She nodded in a heartbeat.

He lifted her hips and slid a black satin pillow underneath her hips, and began to push constantly, not letting up. She tried to raise her hips to ease the discomfort, but it only helped a little. He was halfway in when he came to a barrier.

His eyes widened. "You're a virgin?" It made sense, but he didn't understand why.

She only blinked. "Of course. I waited patiently for you for a long time."

He looked into her bright green eyes and smiled softly at her unexpected gift that meant the world to him. She had waited, not for anyone, but for him "Yes, of course."

He pressed his lips to hers and shoved hard, breaking her barrier. She was so tight that he couldn't fit all the way inside her. He swallowed her pained yelp with a kiss, petting her hair and staying very still.

She tentatively rolled her hips, and he chuckled weakly. He started moving softly inside her, only about three-fourths in, but he didn't want to hurt her.

But she seemed determined that they would fit. She wrapped her legs tighter around his lean hips, sliding one higher up on his back, and shifting her hips up.

"It's okay, I'm fine like this," he whispered, going a little faster. She ignored him, angling her hips and clenching internally to try to draw him deeper. She suddenly thrust her hips upward, and she forced him all the way inside her. He cried out, throwing his head back as she gripped him. She growled deep in her throat, wrapping her arms languidly around his neck. "That's better, my darling."

He dropped his forehead to hers and ground against her, going as deep as possible, hitting both her clitoris and that place deep inside her. She yelped in ecstasy, arching her back and hugging him close. "Lip!"

He rose up on straightened arms and drove into her, hard and fast, and the headboard hit against the wall in rhythm. Her head thrashed on the pillows, and he knew she was about to come. She rose up all of a sudden, continuing to roll her hips to accommodate his frenzied thrusts, and placed a palm on either side of his face. She brushed her lips against his forehead adoringly, her breath fanning out to cool his face in a fragrant wave of mandarin oranges.

She fell back to the mattress with a scream as her orgasm hit her like a freight train, and she raked his back mindlessly as she rode the storm of her pleasure. As she did so, he let go, and his release was violent. He roared, his back bowing, her nails like fiery electricity down his back as he arched away from them like a cat overcome with pleasure as it gets pet after too long without loving touch.

He rolled off of her and took her with him, tucking her darling red head underneath his chin. He fought to catch his breath, gripping her milky white skin perhaps a bit too hard, but she seemed to revel in it. She stretched on top of him languidly, the thought of what they had been doing only moments before an intoxicating aphrodisiac to her soul. She felt free, as though she were a wild nightingale that had been set loose from her gilded cage.

As first he was sightless, blinded by the joy of having Vivette, and the first thing he saw was a poster taped haphazardly to the ceiling , half shrouded by the vines that created a slight canopy over the bed. It was of some kind of play or something, with a medieval looking woman standing in front.

"What is that," he asked, pointing weakly and pathetically to the general vicinity of the poster.

She seemed to understand what he was talking about, but, like he expected and looked forward to, responded mysteriously. "Opera transports us to a world of extravagant passions and passionate extravagance. It is a tale told in total music, an odyssey of the most fervent and glimmering kind. I do so love the opera." She glanced up to look at him impishly. "Mayhap we shall go to one?"

He was so surprised all he could do was nod. She wanted to go out with him? In the back of his mind, he imagined her keeping him her dirty little secret. He had been okay with that, had been a dirty little secret to more than one rich girl, but Vivette wasn't just 'one rich girl'.

This turn of events was much more….comforting.

"I would love to, my darling Vivette."

**Like it? No? TELL ME!** **First ever sex scene with this much…sex-ness. Was it okay? I thought it was good as I was writing/reviewing it, thought it was the right dose of romantic. But since I'm a total romantic, it might be too much for some people. Don't worry though, there will have to be one more major challenge or two to face for these guys yet. R and R!**


	8. Chapter 8

The light outside filtered lightly in the room, casting a refreshing brightness to the black satin sheets of which Lip lay on his back. Vivette's head was tucked under his chin, one of her pale legs thrown over his hips. His eyes blinked open, and he was confused. _What the fucking fuck?_

Then last night's events flashed through his mind sluggishly, and it all came down to when him and Vivette fucked repeatedly. _No, _he thought bitterly, _she didn't fuck me, she made love to me._

Which was why he had to get the hell out of dodge. Having a girl like her LOVE him was a fucked up idea from the go, and he was too blind to realize it. She belonged in gilded rooms and satin couches and delicate English gardens drinking tea with lots of sugar; he belonged on street corners, stealing cars and dating sluts like Karen. They should have never mixed.

He slid out from under her, allowing himself to gaze down at her sleeping form, snoring delicately. A smile teased her lips, and she groaned, grapping a pillow and latching onto it, petting it softly and mumbling quietly before stilling again.

And damn if he wasn't willing to sell his black soul just to replace the pillow with himself, to feel her warm touch.

Cursing silently, he turned away and located his rumpled jeans and shirt. He pulled them on, and not giving himself just one last look at Vivette, slipped out the door.

He found Ian, Fiona, and Steve sitting at the kitchen table. OR, to be more correct, a big tea-stained canvas as the tabletop with four tall stacks of books as the legs.

"Well, look at that," purred Fiona with a glance at his wrinkled clothes. "Someone had a nice time last night, didn't they?"

"Yeah, nice," whispered Lip, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Ian narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Lip ignored him. "We have to go today, right?"

"No," interjected the oblivious Steve, "Since everyone seems to love it here, I thought we could postpone leaving. Maybe even invite Vivette to stay with us," he added with a waggle of his brows to Lip.

The thought of pristine Vivette being in the same house with his father, beer, drugs, hobos milling about, half the stuff there stolen for fuck's sake, shook him to the core. He couldn't allow Vivette to see that. He had to leave, and never come back.

Even in his memories.

"No!" he cried without thinking, and everyone turned to look at him in confusion and alarm.

"Sit your ass down, and explain what's wrong," snapped Fiona, pointing to a rickety wooden chair.

Lip didn't want to sit, he wanted to leave. "I…" he began, then swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. "I have to go make up with Karen."

"What?" They all whisper-yelled.

"Yeah, being with Vivette made me realize that I really miss her."

"Then why do you sound like those words are like acid on your tongue?" pointed out Ian with a twist to his lips.

He should have come up with a smart reply that would have thrown them off his trail. He should have made the right decision and simply kissed Vivette and tucked her into her bed of dark passion. He should have just stayed the hell away, but he didn't. He had had glorious sex with a siren high above the streets of New York, and no words came out of his mouth now. Because, even now, he likes to think, subconsciously, once he had tasted an angel, a demon just wouldn't do, even if he was one himself.

Sensing his thoughts, Fiona touched his arm. "Do you really want to leave Vivette, Lip?"

He squared his shoulders. "Doesn't matter what I want, she needs to stay here, and I don't deserve to do the same. So, can we please go so I can track down my…" _'my' nothing. A whore who freezes me inside out_ "Girlfriend."

**An hour later**

"Come on Lip," called Fiona from the passenger seat as Lip looked up the tall, magnificent Waldorf Astoria, trying to get one last look at her flaming hair and glinting green eyes, but her window was too far up for him to catch a glimpse.

He got in the cramped backseat, and they drove down the road in silence. Rain poured openly now on the black streets, shading Manhattan in gloomy grey. Fiona quietly rustled through her purse, and when she gasped a little, it was loud in the silent Impala.

She gulped audibly, and turned in her seat to wordlessly hand Lip a little envelope, the one that she had apparently been surprised to find in her purse.

It was dark red and made out of smooth wove paper, and in black calligraphy, 'Lip' was written in the middle on the back. On the front, in was sealed with black wax, stamped by Vivette's family crest.

He gulped and slowly opened it, careful not rip anything, and he pulled out a sheet of coffee paper. Unfolded, he read the following message to himself:

_Dearest Lip,_

_Were you not happy with me? Did I not please you on the few days that we were together? Although the distance of time and account of days may be either forever or a few hours, dependant of your repugnance, or perhaps fear, of me, the want of your presence shall quietly haunt me. The time in which I write this letter, at four fifteen in the morning of the day you are scheduled to leave, and the time in which you will decide whether to leave me, will seem an eternity. For life as I know it rests in your hands. _

_But how am I not to know that you have another love awaiting you at wherever you resided before your short jaunt here in New York. Perhaps your love of me, if you have any at all, simply is eclipsed by your love of someone else obviously worthy of you. The more I write this, the more angered I am at your actions, because if this letter actually reaches your hands, it means that you _have_ indeed abandoned me. Coward, that's what you are if you read this letter. But if you do not, if you chose to stay with me, a wayward girl, then may I thank the gods above. Alas, I sincerely doubt that you will stay, and is that not a horrid thing? When the love of one's life cannot even be trusted to stay. And even then, I understand you not wanting me. I scarcely want myself, my heart. _

_Every time I think of you to leave, I grow sad and melancholy to a fevered degree. But then I love you even more every time I think of a universe in which you stay. However, you need not think of me any more, for as you have made up your mind, I make up mine as well. As they say, "the first thought that comes to one's head is the way they truly believe."_

_Never come back. _

_Adieu, Lip, and may you live a very happy life as I shall live one as well, alone. _

_V.V.V_

Tears coursed down his cheeks, like he imagined they did her as she penned this letter filled with sadness.

The whole car felt his anguish, and stayed deathly quiet the whole ride back.

**Yeah, so. I cut this chapter very short and do not intend to proofread it, because as a reader, I hate to read these inevitable plot twists and sad moments that make you teary, and as a writer, it's awful to type and makes me quite depressed. So, just overlook typos, and wait patiently as I recover and get to work on the next, hopefully cheerful yet no less drama-filled, with a perhaps surprise appearance from good ol' Karen. Maybe. I don't know yet…. **


	9. Chapter 9

ONE MONTH LATER

Lip hunched further over the keyboard to the library's shitty computer, and ignored the drone of the mundane around him.

The flicker of the florescent lights. The scuffle of dirty sneakers on worn carpet. The bickering of two prostitutes in a corner, displaying their wares even as they tried to be subtle.

He hated it all.

Lip licked his lips and let his finger hover over the 'V', worn away from age and use. He shouldn't be doing this, he really shouldn't. But he had controlled himself for 28 days, nine hours, and fifteen minutes. Not that he had been counting or anything.

He typed "Vivette Vorahnov" into the Google Search engine, and waited with disgustingly bated breath as the computer spat and sputtered, trying to fulfill it's bidding. Finally, images popped up, and he immediately forgot everything around him, the drone dying, as his eager eyes flicked over each image.

Vivette as a toddler, bundled up in a black parka, furry white hand muff, even furrier white Russian hat, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower in seemingly a blizzard. Vivette as a teen, sitting cross-legged on a gilded sail boat in an Audrey Hepburn-esque outfit with a sunhat sitting jauntily to cover smoldering eyes. Vivette at night, dancing the Salsa in a swingy red skirt with a guy who looks like a 'Ricardo', in the middle of a giant festival on the street, with the Rio de Janeiro statue in the dark as her background. Vivette in a plaid kilt and cream fisherman sweater, standing on top of a jagged crag of rock with her arms outstretched, rising out of the ocean off the coast of Ireland, and she made the gloomy and foggy surrounding seem alive with light. Vivette at a child in a green wool gown, perching daintily on top of a giant black Shire horse as it pounded on the wet green earth, the highlands of Scotland rolling behind her, her hair blowing like blood behind her.

He only raised his hand to the grimy screen and lovingly touched her grinning face through the glass. God, he missed her. No, 'missed' wasn't a word he would use. There wasn't anything to describe how much he missed her. He would gladly give up all his external limbs, ALL of them, just to see her smile devilishly at him one last time.

"What's up, fuck buddy?" came a raspy female voice behind him, and he jumped, yanking his hand away from the screen guiltily.

He turned to see Karen, her bleached hair cut raggedly to her chin and eyeliner smeared on her lids. He knew his eyes looked sad, but he couldn't help it. "Hi, Karen."

She cocked an eyebrow before dropping onto a nearby plastic chair with an unladylike thump. "You called to say you were getting married?"

He cocked his head in puzzlement. "What?"

"You mooned over her for five minutes." She winked. "I counted."

"Fuck off, Karen."

She blinked. "Huh? You called me to come here, remember? You look like shit."

"I called to ask if you wanted to…" He bit back bile. "go out sometime."

She cackled, startling him. "Hell no. I'm done with relationships, strictly one-night-stands. And beside, you looked pretty gushy for that girl on the screen there. What's her name?"

He licked his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. "Vivette Viola Vorahnov."

She lit a cigarette, and took a puff before answering, "What a fucking name."

"It's perfect."

"Right," she tapped the ashes on the floor. "and I'm a virgin. Just like I'm guessing she was?"

"What do you mean by that?" he snapped.

"I mean," she took another hit, "You are obviously full on, his-and-hers-towels, golfing-together, baking-pies-with-her in L-O-V-E. I saw it all. Yeah, especially the corny little stroking of her face on the monitor. Where is she, anyway? I would have figured you would have wanted to rub my face in your happily-ever-after."

"She wouldn't do that. She doesn't understand the idea of malicious gloating," he whispered.

"Huh? Please, explain."

He looked up at Karen, the normal, perfectly damaged and complicated girl that every boy from the slums dreams of. He didn't want it at all. He smiled. "People think she's insane, but she's not."

She gestured for him to continue wordlessly.

"Everyone thinks she's insane because she sees the best in others, and sees things people overlook or don't think are there. Sometimes they aren't even there at all, but she's happy that way. She is happier than anyone else I've ever seen, and that's what makes her so painfully special. She glows with this confidence that everything is for a reason, and that our fates are tied to one another in a big tapestry. When I first met her, I thought she was vapid and stupid, but she's just so much wiser than me that she seemed that way at first. I thought she belonged in a gilded room, locked away from the world, and that I needed to stay away. But frankly, I don't give a flying fuck anymore. I'm going to her gilded room and joining her."

He stood calmly. "Now, if you would excuse me, Karen?"

Karen grinned ear to ear. "I'm good. But please, no cliché acts of love, okay?"

He shook his head. "Normally, I would say no. But what can I say, Vivette loves that sappy stuff." He paused. "Well, I hope. I really don't know her all that well except that whatever I do find out, I'll love."

Karen rolled her eyes. "Oh god what has she _done _to you? You sound like a dick."

He bowed so perfectly that Vivette would have been proud, he knew she would. "And that, is why I love her. She doesn't think I'm a dick, she thinks I'm 'dashing'" He smiled fondly. "She knew I was good enough all along."

Karen started to speak but Lip was already turning, heading for the light of the sun shining though the dirty library door. He never understood that, glass doors in the worst part of Chicago. But then again, not many people here wanted to steal books and broken computers from the 90's.

He swung by the house, took all his saved money from underneath his mattress, and left a Post-It note on the counter before heading back out again to catch the 4 o'clock bus to New York.

_So, this is Lip. I won't be home for a while, turns out my self control isn't what I thought. Going to New York and hopefully will be staying at the Waldorf on the top floor (double entendre intended). Either will be happy or die alone, but don't worry! Will call. __¾ Lip._

He caught the Greyhound just in time (aka, as it was sputtering down the street) so he had to pay extra, considering how much strain it put on the crappy engine to start then stop so soon. Within thirty minutes of what was most assuredly the longest bus ride of his life, he: sat in gum; was crushed by an absent-minded obese man with a stained wife beater omitting the strangest odor; was offered a good deal by a skeletal prostitute of which he politely declined; witnessed an elderly couple have sex on the bench across from him, via Viagra; and a seeing eye dog pissed on his left leg.

But he had never felt happier.

**So, I know I Haven't written in a long time, but hey, it's summer. (which, to me, means reading Jane Austen novels in my Snuggie). So, at least two more chapters, including epilogue (no story is complete without one) so, it's near, folks! After I finish this series *sadface*, I intend to pick back up my Harry Potter fanfic featuring Draco and Lady Bain, a woman suspiciously similar to Vivette. So if you haven't already checked that out, do so! I think it's a pretty good story, but not nearly finished and will take some time to finish. So, yay! I can enrich your minds for many more seasons to come! So, await the final few installments of this lovely tale, then expect me over in the Harry Potter section!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Please do not destroy me for the lack of chapters. I WILL finish this story. I've had some pretty hard stuff come up in my life, so I'm sorry. Enjoy!**

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"What do you mean, she isn't here?" snapped Lip, banging his fist on the marble counter and making the little man at the counter jump.

He had arrived to New York at six o'clock in the fucking morning, and hitchhiked from the bus station straight to the Waldorf. He had endured endless hours of sticky bus seats and coughing hobos, and many other nightmarish things of which he never wanted to talk about ever again.

And apparently, all for nothing.

"Where the hell is she?" he roared, frightening away the two Armani-clad children behind him.

The concierge gasped and whispered hysterically, "ah, sir, please calm down! Ms. Vorahnov left about three days ago."

"Where. Did. She. Go?"

The man shook his head. "Oh sir, I am afraid-" he was cut off by Lip grabbing his shirt and yanking him forward.

"I'm not your normal customer today, asshat. So get on it," he bit out, shoving the man back. He did _not _have time for this; he would hunt Vivette down like a fucking bloodhound, to Africa or Iraq or wherever the fuck her screwball mind had thought was a great vacation locale. He would hide away in someone's luggage on a boat if he had to.

The man - whose nametag branded as Jacque - held up a meek finger. "How do I know you are not some murderer out for her head? We have had some very famous guests here at the Waldorf, and they all depend on me to keep their location and identity hush-hush. Do you understand?"

"You're right. I _could_ be a mass murderer."

Jacque's eyes bugged out comically.

"But I'm not," Lip finished, a smirk coming to his lips. "And I'll show you why."

He pulled out a blueberry cheesecake flavored Ring Pop package.

"You see this Ring Pop, Jacque?" He held in front of the man's bewildered face. "I had to search every-fucking-where to find one in this flavor, because on the night I met her, she served us blueberry cheesecake cream fluff in teacups." To further prove his point, he pulled out a delicate china teacup painted with tiny black wolves and held it up also. "And you see this china cup? You know how fucking hard it is to carry this delicate thing from Chicago to New York City on a Greyhound? Very fucking hard, Jacque.

"And do you know why I did it?" Lip paused, waiting for the man to give a reaction. Finally, Jacque shook his head slowly.

"Because I love her. I love her so much, that I am risking getting killed by a truck driver to hitchhike to wherever she is. Unless she's overseas, in which I'll figure something else out. And I love her so much, that I _will _find her."

Jacque blinked. And blinked. And blinked. Then smiled.

"Very well then. Let me look up her travel details." He turned professionally to his computer, and began typing extremely fast. Lip wondered surreally if he, too, should learn to type efficiently. He might need to, just in case Vivette need to type up something. Knowing her, she would reject the modern keyboard as some 'intrusive device which is ruining the ideals of the ancient world' or something.

He smiled wistfully.

Jacque stopped his clacking, jerking Lip out of his thought process. "Yes, I've found her. Vivette Vorahnov, correct? The girl who lived at the very top of the tower?"

Lip nodded. "That's her. Where does it say she is?" He tried leaning over the counter to see, but Jacque's body blocked his view.

"Let's see….she left New York City three days ago at the John F. Kennedy International Airport, and arrived at Chicago's O'Hare International Airport about two hours later. From there, I don't know where she booked a hotel, or even if she did. But my guesses would be…" more clacking. "Park Hyatt hotel, or the Peninsula hotel, assuming she still has her taste from her residence here."

Lip, however, had stop listening since 'Chicago'. Why would she go to Chicago…? To shop? No. To sightsee? Perhaps, but she would go somewhere more exciting. For business? Laughable idea.

He knew why she came. He knew precisely why, though he was abashed with the idea.

She had come to him. Of all the romantic notions he could think of, however, the ball was most definitely in his court at this point. So must likely, it was to give him a piece of her mind.

Lip looked back to Jacque with a renewed gleam in his eyes, like that of a mad scientist. "You say you don't know where she is?"

Jacque shook his head in sympathy.

"May I please go up into her room?" He knew it was a long shot, but he had only one shot left.

_Emma, Emma of the Three, under the tree, hacked him in three. Darling, he's supposed to give _me_ the ring!_

The man worried his lip. "…Under my supervision only, for two minutes."

Lip grinned and cracked his knuckles, ready to solve the mother of riddles. "All I need."


	11. Chapter 11

**Hullo! So I know, I uploaded this fast; but I got into a writing spree of just wanting you guys to know the ending! Yay!**

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Lip stood in the middle of the room, looking around him to the cluttered shelves and twinkling lights. Memories from his time there floated around the room in the flecks of dust, swirling in shimmering in shafts of bright sunlight. The shades were open, letting him look down to the familiar view of New York.

He once remembered looking down at the bustling human race, wondering if any of them were aware of the Rapunzel in her tower, right above them. It seemed so long ago, but at the same time, just yesterday. Did that even make sense?

With Jacque tapping his foot impatiently at the doorway, Lip made haste. He quickly scanned the room looking for clues, but could find nothing amiss the piles and piles of obscura. He recited the riddle over and over in his head, but knew she wouldn't have made it that easy.

_Emma, Emma of the Three, under the tree, hacked him in three. Darling, he's supposed to give _me_ the ring!_

So he did what any other person in his predicament would do: he stood right in the middle of the room again, and re-created the entire scene in his head. Her on the floor, talking to him about her dad.

No. Before that, it must have been.

Her discussing the painting. Wait. A little more.

He could see her blurry image, conjured by his memory, still on the hard ground, staring over his shoulder. At something. The Van Gogh? Isn't that what she had said?

She had lied.

Lip jerked to action, and raced to the wall where the Van Gogh lived, and looked directly left. There, hidden behind a giant spider plant, was a dusty tapestry. Lip gently slid 'the tree' to the side, and looked over the oldest tapestry he had ever seen outside a museum.

It looked to have been made in the medieval period, and featured an ornate, woven woman, brandishing a bloodied sword. On either side of her, stood wolves, their two-dimensional muzzles all raised to the moon. And, at her feet, lay a fallen knight, hacked into three pieces.

…._Okay. Now what? _

He stared at the women, her face frighteningly surreal after having just butchered a knight. He could see why Vivette had decided to add it to her collection; it was rare to find a piece of such feminine power in the patriarchal Middle Ages. But besides that, he couldn't see why she had hinted at it.

Lip wiped his hands on his jeans, and slowly traced his finger over the outline of her sword. The old thread felt soft under his fingertips, so he slowly drew his finger from the sword to the border of the tapestry. It was all words in some language, probably an explanation to the scene. Perhaps it held the clue he was looking for.

He studied the wording, having no idea what it meant. Then, as he looked closer, he realized he had definitely seen this language before. Had Vivette spoken it to him? No, he recognized the letters; he had seen it _written_ somewhere.

Turning, his eyes scanned the living room, his vision skipping over countless beds and pillows and yarn. _Where!? _

The book. He knew it the moment he saw it.

He picked up the worn, leather-bound book he had flipped through while Vivette had searched for her car key. But this time, instead of opening to a random page, he opened to the first. And sure as fuck, there were the exact words that had been written on the tapestry. Underneath them, in Vivette's elegant script, was the translation.

_It is not what you see that counts, but what is behind it._

Clapping the book closed, he went back to the tapestry. He took a moment to be grateful for Jacque, who was giving him way more than the allotted two minutes he had been promised, and began studying the image again. Obviously, the words were referring to the woman; even though she was a female, it was the wolves behind her that gave her the strength to rescue herself and to give a huge 'fuck you' to the unsuspecting knight. However, there must be more to it than that.

Okay, he was thinking too hard…._what is behind it. Behind it. _Behind.

He carefully took the tapestry off the peg it had been hanging from and flipped it over. There, taped to the tapestry frame, was a list, scribbled on notebook paper.

_Places I would like to go: _

_Verona, Italy, Hotel Verona. __¾ done._

_Anchorage, Alaska, Historical Ancorage Hotel ¾ done_

The list when on and on for about twenty more places, but one made is heart stand up and leap for joy. It was written more sloppy than the others, as though she was writing it quickly right before she left.

_Chicago, Illinois, Peninsula Hotel __¾ in progress_

Brilliant, brilliant girl.


End file.
